He chuckles. “I think it’s best if we—”
Something vibrates in his pocket. I watch a shutter go down over his face, the temporary glimmer at his own vulnerability gone.
Holding me with one palm on my lower back, he removes his phone with his free hand.
“What is it?” he snaps. Then he closes his eyes and mutters, “Christ. Yeah. I’ll be right there.”
My heart sinks. He’s being called away again. Is nothing sacred for him? Must he always be on demand to fulfill the needs of his brothers, his group of men?
“I’ve got to go.”
“Okay,” I say, trying to be brave. I don’t want him to go. I feel as if we’ve just popped the cork on a bottle of champagne, but he has to go before we’ve even sipped it. We were only just beginning. I’m sure of it.
“I’ll be back, sweet girl. I have to be sure you’re safe, so I still don’t want you to leave this room. No dinner out this evening.”
He’s putting his shield up again. I can see it in his eyes.
“If it weren’t the type of errand I need to run alone, I’d take you with me. I’m taking you with me to the school at the weekend.” I have questions about that but know better than to ask. “I’ll tell you more when I return,” he says, as if he’s read my mind and realizes I have questions I need answered.
“Okay,” I say. There’s so much more I want to say, but I don’t know if it’s my place.
Come back to me.
Stay safe.
I’ll be waiting.
I’m confused about my feelings toward him and his evident feelings toward me. I thought I was a prisoner, but it seems we flirt with moving past that into this odd arrangement.
“You’re a good lass,” he says, leading me to the bed. “Now put some clothes on so none of my men see you. It’d be complicated having to kill one of my own.”
I giggle, but he isn’t smiling. Oh. Well, then. I quickly grab a dress, heeding his “no knickers” growl from where he’s taking things out of his dresser. I look over my shoulder to see him sliding his arms into a black harness type thing, which he fastens in front before he takes a locked box out of his bottom drawer. Removing several guns, he slides them into the holsters. There are... many guns. He doesn’t even think twice. He got a call, and now he’s outfitting himself with weapons. I swallow hard. Keenan McCarthy is not a good man. Then why do I feel the way I do about him?
“What would you like to eat?”
I shrug. I have no idea. I grew up eating food that was served simply for the sake of filling my belly.
“Are your tastes so simple, sweet Cait?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, with a smile, before I can censor my response. “I have a taste for you, and you’re anything but simple.”
He sobers, and a look crosses his eyes that I can’t quite decipher. “We’ve the finest fish in all of Ireland, our greens grown right here on property. I’ll order you dinner and dessert, and hopefully by the time you’ve finished, I’ll be back.”
He’s wearing an overcoat now, a thick, heavy thing that covers the weapons he’s hidden beneath it. His phone buzzes again. Cursing under his breath, he comes to me, weaves his fingers through my thick hair, and pulls my head back. When I open on a gasp, he captures my mouth with his, this kiss as different as the one I gave him as night to day. This is at once a capture and claim, but it ends as soon as it begins. “Be a good girl while I’m gone, and we will pick up where we left off when I return.”
And then he’s gone. A sort of sadness comes to me at his absence, one I don’t understand. As I said to him, I’ve grown used to my own company. I’m not afraid of being alone. But we’ve started something we haven’t finished, and I mean to see where that leads us.
Food is brought up directly. I enjoy the delicate, flaky fish, savory pile of wilted, buttered greens, and golden roasted potatoes on the side. I eat until my belly’s full, but I’ve saved some room for the dessert, a pretty white cake topped with whipped cream and red berries.
There’s an elegant glass of a light, golden liquid. Is it wine? I’ve never had any before. I take a tentative sip and nearly choke, sputtering and coughing. I’m glad Keenan isn’t here to see that. Would he laugh at me? I place the glass back down. He can keep that for himself. I push the tray aside on the desk and stand, walking to one of the large windows with bars on it. I don’t like the bars, because no matter what he’s said, it feels like I’m imprisoned.